Naïveté
by His Little LabRat
Summary: Really, you don't know someone until you've been inside their head. Things in South Park are usually predictable to Butters, but now everything is not going as planned. Bunny & Style M for later, language, etc.
1. Prolouge

Naïveté

"It takes a smart person to know who they are, and a genius to question it." - Anonymous

My name is Leopold Stotch. But for whatever reason, everyone calls me Butters. I don't even know where they came up with that nickname, it just arose on it's own. This, of course, was amongst many a variety of nicknames that seemed to ease over me on the years - Butterscotch, faggot, goody-goody - you know the works. Most of them bother me to a greater extent than I let off. I must appear indifferent to life's daily criticisms, so I don't really let it bother me visibly.

Walking down the halls of my high school isn't… charming, per se. Every day in this god damned place they call an educational facility is exactly the same as the day before. It's rather uneventful, making life seem quite dull to me. Every day - every, single day - is the same: come to school, go to first period via cutting through the theatre or face being picked on in the hallways, ignore the spit balls & snide remarks from Cartman, slip out undetected & head for the stair well no one uses to second period, go to third block, get picked on during lunch by the boys & sit for a chat with the girls, go to fifth period & ignore Cartman once again, go to sixth period once again through theatre to avoid being picked on any longer, sit through seventh period, wake Kenny up after seventh, and go through the hallways - teased as always - so as to avoid disrupting the drama club to take the forty-five minute walk back home before it goes on five-o-clock so my parents don't beat me. By this point, you should have long-since been wondering where fourth period was, and if not, then you're likely going back to check to see if you accidentally skipped over it. That is, if "you" actually exist, like my philosophy teacher once said. And, by this point as well, you feel rather silly for going back to check & finding it wasn't there because fourth period is actually lunch time, and while reading that rather painfully long run-on sentence of my usual day you didn't take the time to notice that fourth period wasn't there in the first place. Now, my knowing that "you" went back to check makes you feel stupid - and stop pretending that you actually did notice - because you obviously didn't.

Cutting through theatre as always, I find myself sighing in rather odd relief. I step over the stage, but looking around at all the empty seats, I figure I might as well take a seat on the stage & rest for a bit. I take the bus to school in the mornings, but I just feel so tired, for whatever reason. Looking around the stage brings me to my next point.

They say life is a play, and you can either be an actor, or you can be a spectator. I am an actor. Rather, I am an actor pretending to be a spectator. In the social latter, I sit to the back of the spectator's crowd. I go unnoticed by many, which makes my life a little easier. Well, that's a lie, actually. Since my years back in elementary school, I've really climbed up on the social latter. Now, I'm in the "popular crowd." Then again, that's a lie as well. My being friends with Wendy Testaburger & Bebe Stevens has really upped my popularity.

Well, not really, as that's a lie. If I was a girl, like I look to be, I would be much more popular. But, my girlish charms & looks don't exactly pull it off for the boys, which leads to a rowdy teasing every fifteen minutes in my case.

It takes a lot. It takes so much out of me to appear like nothing was ever wrong, and now that I am seventeen, a senior in South Park High School, I am slowly slipping. I will occasionally drop my mask, and I won't notice. I'll stare off into space with a sad, sullen expression on my face until someone comes to attention & I immediately perk myself up. As the years have gone by, I have been losing more & more of my innocence, and I can blame it on everyone else. I could blame it on everyone else, but I know it was always me. I was - and am - so tired of acting, but I didn't want to ever trouble anyone, so I continue to act like life is good, singing & dancing & acting merry. Even when no one is around & I know that they aren't, I still continue to act.

Most would describe me as a "Melvin," a gullibly naïve character who can be pressured into doing just about anything. There are a few things in which I do compare to the "Butters" everyone believes I am. Though we share few similarities, and some of them are rather… hard to admit to. But it's not as if "you," can do anything to me - that is, if "you" even exist. But enough of that. I better you are wondering what it is that I share in common to my naïve other self. Well, I'm not going to tell you.

I mostly question everything that happens. Yet, I have everything perfectly planned out - a charted map that I follow rather easily. South Park is a rather… odd little podunk town, and even though many people will do things that often surprises you, you still manage to know exactly what it is that anyone will do next. People are so typical like that.

By now, you are probably confused. Don't worry, I am too. Well, I am confused, and then I'm not. Maybe I should start over.

…

Hello. My name is Leopold Stotch.

This is my story.


	2. Chapter One: Morning

Getting up for school was always just as hard as going to sleep. I would stay up for hours, just thinking and rolling over in bed, and having to go to bed each night at eight PM didn't help much. And then, when I finally and actually fall asleep, it is usually around one in the morning. So, I end up with four or five hours or so of sleep each night because my mind just goes on a fritz every night, adding a larger addition to my loathing of waiting for my mind and body to fall prey to sleepy desires.

It's like a ritual - everyday, really.

They say humans need routine to live by, to really keep their sanity. Even "spontaneous" people make long-term plans for their future, and make to-do lists and keep a routine of some sort. Which kind of defeats the "spontaneous" part of their lives, doesn't it? Makes it seem like their isn't any spontaneity at all, really. Almost like it's just a word. I wish "getting up" was just a word too.

Unfortunately, it isn't.

My alarm is just as annoying as it is to get up and turn it off. I purposefully put it all the way across my room so I actually had to get up to turn it off. Personally, I thought it was a good idea when I first thought of it, and setting it up was just fine as well. However, every morning when I wake up, I easily regret putting it so far away - because once I'm up, I can't go back to sleep until much later, and my lack of sleep nowadays makes me want to just keel over, which may add to the reason of my occasional slip-up in character portrayal.

Rolling out of bed these days just gets harder, really. With my now foreboding lack of sleep, I often find myself sleeping through most of my alarm - or almost going back to sleep standing up. I think it may be insomnia, but I can't exactly self-diagnose, because, hey, isn't that just illegal? I don't know, personally.

Luckily, this morning is different, and I am already awake when my alarm starts to let off it's incessant ringing or buzzing or whatever noise it is that it makes. I have been awake all night, virtually afraid to go to sleep. Like always, I pretend to be asleep when my parents unlock my door to check on me, even though I was rolling over in bed for hours just repeating the word sleep over and over again in my head to force myself into the needed state of mind, but it came without success numerous times, as you can tell. It's odd that I don't have bags under my eyes from all of this.

Looking away from my alarm clock, I scan the blue walls of my room to move to my closet, keeping one hand on the wall to keep myself steady, because, like usual, I got out of bed too fast, making the water in my ears spin and creating a dizzy sensation that… well, you get the point, don't you? I should certainly hope so. My fingers drift over the blue paint to the wooden doorframe of my closet and pull the door to the side, peering inside wearily. Usually, the night before, I pick out my clothes (to get my parents off my case about it, but we'll get into that later), but I didn't last night for whatever reason that I didn't. I don't know any more.

I reach in in a half-stumble, realizing I was too far away to grab at any clothes. I loosely grab the sleeve of a white dress shirt, tugging on it slightly to pull myself closer, and it tips lightly in my direction on the hanger. Stepping close to the closet, I take it off the rack and spin it, holding it in front of me. It doesn't look wrinkled. Why are wrinkles bad, anyway? Without wrinkles, your brain would just be a useless mass of fat and water; and wrinkles means you're aged, and with age comes wisdom, doesn't it? Oh, how humanity confuses me.

In my muse, I had thrown the shirt back on my bed so it landed flatly, but the long sleeves fluttered down on top a little bit more slowly. I grunt, turning back to my closet. Pushing through the clothes, I grab at my usual turquoise hoodie, pulling it easily off the hanger. I throw it back on my bed without looking, my eyes already searching for a pair of pants. Truthfully, the hoodie I grabbed isn't the same one I had when I was little - I grew out of that years and years ago. But the colour and sense of the hoodie has just become a comfort-thing to me, and helps to keep me calm. It doesn't have sentimental value, really, but it's just something in my nature. A compulsive action, I suppose you could say.

The quiet now sinks in - my parents aren't usually up when I first get up - and I shiver slightly, realizing my room is a little more cold than comfortable for me. I quickly find a pair of pants - easily and most likely being black skinny jeans - and pull them off the hanger, turning back to wrap them over the hanger that holds my white shirt on the bed. I put the hoodie over it, zipping it up to hold everything together - pants, shirt, hoodie. It's always in that order, for whatever reason. Perhaps another neurotic impulse of mine.

Shaking my head with a small laugh, I turn and skip to the bathroom. I am really too tired to skip, but I am supposed to like skipping - it gives off a sense of joy and glee and whatever. I give a little, quiet whistle of some song that only I know and head to the bathroom. As I rasp my knuckles across the wood of the door, I wonder why I even bother to knock. My parents beat the idea into my head since I was little. Even back then, we didn't have locks on the doors, so I always knocked before entering. And, although I knew no one was up, I still knock. As usual, no one answers - no one ever has and no one certainly ever will.

I push the door open with a twist of the knob, and I suddenly feel a buzzing in my brain. It's a small, fizzy feeling that makes my neurons fry. It doesn't feel like I'm alone. However, peering into the dark of the bathroom, I see no one. My hand flies to the wall and flicks the light switch, but no one is there. I step into the room and move the door, checking behind it - no one. I look back up and hit the other light switch, which is the one that turns the light on above the bath-shower combination of my bathroom. Looking back to the tub, I jump when I swear that there is a silhouette behind the curtain. It's the shape of someone - most likely a boy - about my age or so, and they're just standing there as if nothing was the problem of being in _someone else's bathroom at five-whatever in the morning_. Nothing scary about that at all.

I can feel my heart pacing wildly in my chest and I swear that the boy in the shower must hear it too. Then, I notice, that I think he has the shower running. "Hello?" No one answers, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now, I'm simply terrified - it _cannot_ be a trick of the light, and . I lick my lips and set my clothes on the counter. I gulp as I tentatively step forward to clutch at the shower curtain. I feel my mouth growing dry, and I'm scared to wits end. I know my parents won't be up for another hour, and even if they were, they would use their own bathroom instead of my own. Just thinking about the possibilities of who it could be - I'm a rather pessimistic person toward my own self-being due to my parents raising of their only child; who, is me, of course - makes my hand start to shake.

Keeping my eyes open, I swallow dryly, my confidence going up with it. I pull the shower curtain, thrusting it in one direction and stare inside to find it empty. And though the water had been running just a moment before, it wasn't now. My heart gave a wild thump against my ribs, and I almost felt tears well-up in my eyes. I begin to force myself to calm down, by repeating words that make me calm over and over again in my head - you know, like, mind over matter. Slowly but surely, it works like I thought it would.

It's odd… you know, that I haven't torn a hole in the shower curtain with how tight I am gripping it. But, you know, the weird person that was standing it my shower just a moment ago was odd too.

Forcing myself to loosen my grip, I sigh softly, looking over the tub. I still see no one. Maybe I am actually still asleep and I just never noticed that I felt asleep and - bullshit! I scoff and lean over the turn the shower on, turn back around after closing the curtain, crossing my arms to take off my shirt. I step in front of the mirror as I take the hem of my shirt in my fingertips, looking up to the same face I see in the mirror everyday.

It's funny, my reflection. Every time I look, I swear it must be a girl - just the same long, slightly curly blonde hair, same bright dodger blue eyes, same pouty pink lips and same round face that I have. Except, when I do my double-take, I realize it's just me - with the same long hair, blue eyes, red lips and curved face. Oh, that's right. I do look like a girl, don't I? Since I was almost nine or ten, I had let my hair grow out. When it was long enough to fall over my shoulders, I felt normal. However, I was surprised my parents let me grow it out. But… when I talked to them, they said it was okay. They always wanted a girl anyway, didn't they? Well, they got it! Those thrice damned fools… I could just… just…

I didn't realize it until now, but I had loosened the grip from my shirt, and the hand that was once of the end of my shirt was now tracing my jaw line. I turn to look deeper into the mirror, leaning over the sink and up on my tip-toes. Every morning I do this - trace every line that my face has as if I can somehow erase it and then reconstruct it over. I wish I could. Maybe then I wouldn't be teased or made fun of by the boys. Of course, I wouldn't fit in with the girls anymore, and that thought just doesn't appeal to me in the slightest. Lightly, as I think about the ways of being effeminate or not, I tug at the skin on my cheeks, my eye lids, and make a few funny faces in the mirror. I huff once again and feel the steam beginning to crawl up the back of legs from the shower. I shiver slightly and turn again to my right, moving to turn the vent fan on. The fan then hums into life as it begins sucking in the steam, and I gaze up at it with a little smirk.

Turning back to the mirror with a little smile on my face, I gaze into the mirror. My reflection stares back at me - that hideous creature hiding itself in the mirror. I frown deeply. However, in the corners of the mirror, I can see the steam starting to stick and fog the silver-glass, so I now it's almost now or never. I cross my arms back over my chest and grab the hem of my shirt. I shiver when the shirt reaches half-way up my chest, feeling a swirl of cold enclose around me. I'm standing in the middle of a room that's beginning to fill itself with steam, so how can I feel cold? I open my eyes and blink into the mirror. For a moment, I see someone standing behind me, running their fingers over my exposed back, and I shiver. The feeling tingles - their fingertips just ghosting over the skin. I can feel the blood pouring into my cheeks and exfoliating my skin along with the skin, emanating a little blush, and then I swear I hear someone snicker lightly behind me. I gasp out as the fingers then prod my back, and by this point, my eyes are shut tightly as I try to hold by a muffled cry that barely wanders out into the rising steam. Clutching the front of my shirt in my hands, I continue pulling it down, but the hand seems to beg to differ and pins the shirt to the top of my back with their other invisible hand.

I feel something on my neck and I moan out when the indiscernible fingers trace the edges of my rather curved hips, then places their hand palm-down on my side. The fingers feel light, but I can tell they are that of a boy. Well, not a boy, per se, but they are definitely not that of a man, either. But the hands are definitely connected to a male body. I throw my head back as I feel him pressing something wet and cool and somehow warm still into the crook of my neck, his hand gripping lightly at my thigh. What the hell am I doing? I know what's happening to my body, and though it has never happened before and it feels deliriously good, I want it to stop because it can't possibly be real, because there was _no one there_.

The ghostly man must have known what I had thought, because he squeezed harder of the inside of my thigh, making me squeak slightly and bite my lip. I move my eyes again, my fingers clutching at the sides of my pants. This is weird, but it feels so right. I close my eyes tightly and then release my pants at my sides and lash my hand backwards with a wild swing of my body, swiveling to hit him square on. But, my hand doesn't connect to anything, and I end up stumbling when my hand comes back around, turning myself into a dizzy half-spin. I wobble slightly and try to catch myself on the sink, but my reflexes aren't exactly the epitome of possibility, so I end up crashing back onto the floor, releasing a loud grunt as I fall backward.

My hair falls in my face and puff to blow it out of the way. "Oh, hamburgers…" Just my luck, right? Whoever's sick joke this was must be laughing their ass off right now.

And, yes, of course I believe in ghosts! I mean, of all the times that Kenny has come back as one of them, I am kind of used to it now and… the rest I won't get into at this time, because that boy drives me mad, to the brink of my very existence inside this shell of a boy. He's so…

I push myself off the ground, scoffing at my own thoughts. Of course, the "ghostly" person could not have been Kenny - Kenny's straight after all, isn't he? So I would really rather not get my hopes up that it had been him.

Nonetheless, I try to continue my morning.

As I stand up again, I walk over to the light switch. My fingers on it, I look back over my shoulder. There isn't anyone there, of course. Looking back to the lights witch, I find myself wishing that it was my imagination instead of a ghost. Any normal person would do the same. Although I certainly wouldn't mind the company, as I never usually had any, but it would mean that I could go somewhere else than this damned podunk town - even if it was a mental hospital that wasn't Hell's Pass, it was better than this ever-glorious shit-hole.

I shake my head, trying to keep the anger of this town back down inside myself and push the switch down, making the light slowly dim out with a little _click_ sound. I turn back around, examining the bathroom in the almost complete darkness. There is still a little light filtering in from the window over the closed blinds from the sun, which must just be on the brink of the horizon by now. Reaching over myself, I pull my shirt off without pausing to wait for ghostly hands to trail my body this time. And when my shirt is completely off, even then I don't pause to wait for them. And they don't come, even as my pants disappear and my underwear as well.

By now, you, if you exist that is, are probably asking why I am taking a shower in the dark. I do it because it makes me feel like I am still asleep - the dark, the rush of the warm water over skin, the sleepy feeling already having settled in you? It's just something that I have grown into the habit of.

I love taking showers. It makes me feel clean, and I completely adore that feeling. It sounds weird to you, doesn't it? Well, don't answer that, because if I am talking to you, and you answer, that means I answered myself, which means I am crazy, and I'll be sent to the loony bin -- wait, no, actually. Please, do answer that. I need to get out the hell out of here of here.

But what was it that I was getting at? I digress so easily nowadays. It's just another thing about my faltering stature of Butters - he's slipping, and like using wet hands to pull a man smothered in Butters, it's hard to hold on… look! There I go again. Talking about butter? I _must_ be insane. Please, get me out of here.

By now, I've stepped into the shower and have already shampooed my hair. The water makes my hair stick down to my back, which feels rather… awkward. And though I have had my long hair quite a long time - no pun intended - I am still unused to the feeling of when it sticks to my back. That's the only part of the shower than I hate. It makes me feel suffocated.

But… I can't exactly leave just yet. I still have things to do, which are slightly important to me, but I do want to leave. This town means nothing to me any more. When I was little, I thought it was the whole world, and I despised it so. But, my indifferent, happy exterior had thought it was the greatest thing in the world. However, he had truly thought it was a disgusting place. It was predictable - just another little town no one had ever heard of and no one would ever want to hear of, and if they did, they would just brush it aside as they had everything else in the world. Yet, though I was filled with putrid disgust for it so, I had to stay. At least I until I was old enough to leave, and then I would leave without another word. And that day of which I had dreamed of so long would be here soon enough. Then I would be vanquished forthwith of this putrescent, fetid place.

Still, I must accomplish what I set out to do so long ago. I need to get a few things done even before I leave. Some are unimportant, others impact my future greatly, then there is one that… I know I can't do. I can't fulfill that one, and that is the one that you will learn later, of which I wish I never had to think of. It's that of which I share in common with dearest Butters.

But that is past me now, it seems. Well, it's before me, really, as I will have to deal with it later in the day, as I do every other week day. Because, now, I am stepping out of the shower. I grope absently for a towel, of which I find after turning off the water. I press the fluffy-feeling object to my face and step over of the shower, which seems to be a harder feat than stepping into the shower, as I mentioned before, taking a shower is like being asleep for me, which is never usually good in the first place. Pushing a few wet strands of hair from my face, I wrap the towel around my waist, and look back to the towel rack, squinting in the darkness to see if there is another one. Luckily, there is, and I grab at it, tugging it gently so it falls off the rack and into my grasp completely.

I always use two towels now. It's just habit - one to wrap up my hair, and the other to dry myself off. I don't know why I do - I just do. But at any rate, I now feel uncomfortable in the bathroom. The steam has now clung itself intently to the mirrors, dotting and glazing it over with moisture so I can't see my own reflection aside a blur of colours. This fact always unnerves me, so I try to get out of the bathroom quickly.

Already, I step out into the hall, leaving the bathroom door open so the steam can go away just a little bit faster, my hair still up in the twisted-towel above my head, clothes I walked into the bathroom with now covering my body. Making my way back to my room now, I wonder if today would be any more different from the any of the other days in South Park. It was unlikely, though, so I quickly pushed the thought from my mind as I stepped into my room to finish getting ready for school.

- - -

The days in South Park are usually as cold as their nights. The temperature rarely changes much - even in the summer, it is still fairly cold, even though it's little podunk natives will be wearing shorts and t-shirts by that time, maybe. Any person from Miami would immediately put on a jacket and look at us as if we were crazy, but that's just how the non-natives were. Though, people rarely came here unless it was family, and most people here weren't likely to know anyone from Miami in the first place, so it was more an abstract thought.

See? This is exactly what this place does to my brain. Here I am walking to the bus stop to go to school, and my mind is in Miami. I mean, really - Miami? As if I'll ever get there soon. Might as well stop dreaming now.

Speaking of dreaming, I must be dreaming. I think I see someone else at my bus stop. Of course, there are many people at my bus stop - but, they all come just before the bus does. I usually go a lot earlier than the bus.

But, there _is _someone there. I can't exactly see what they look like from this distance - I'm almost two blocks away. This is… highly unusual. No one ever leaves their house before the sun starts to come up! Well, except me, that is, but that's besides the point. I even left earlier this morning just so I could avoid coming into the contact with my parental units.

Now, the person is a little more clear to see, as I am a little closer now. I can tell it's a boy. And - be still my heart - I only know one person who wears that much orange.

I step up behind him, fingers tightly gripping my backpack straps as I look at him. His hood is up as usual and he is staring blankly at the road. But, he seems to become aware of my presence and turns around to - I think - smile brightly at me. He mumbles something over his hood that sounds relatively close to "Hey, Butters."

I can't manage to say anything back to him. I just stare straight-forward at what I can see of his face, with what is most possibly the idiotic dumb-founded expression on my lips. I finally train myself back from my void of staring at him when some hair falls in my face. Brushing it back, I say weakly, "Hey, Ken," and smile brightly as Butters would usually do. I need to keep up the act for as long as I can. "Uh - isn't your bus stop on the other side of town?"

He stares back at me a moment, and I almost become entranced in his eyes. After what seems like an awkward moment that lasted forever ( no, it just seemed so to me ), he reaches up and takes down his hood, then looks back up to me. "Well, you see, Buttercup…" he didn't even have to finish his sentence, because I knew that he was probably going to go on about some sexcapade in which he got what he wanted and then left. Because that's what it always is. Because it's a Kenny McCormick, and he likes sexual-themed things. It disgusts me, but it also entices me. "I died last night -" my heart skipped an eager beat. "- in this side of town, so why would I take my time to go to the other side of town to hang out with Stan and Kyle and fat-ass at the bus stop when I could just come here and talk to you. I mean, it was a lot closer, and we will all end up in the same place anyway." He gave a little shrug as he finished off his sentence, and I think my heart stopped beating just a little while before.

"Oh --" I said. And then Butters continued in a very worried tone, "I mean - are you okay? How did you die?" Both Butters and myself were commonly worried when it came to Kenny's death - that was one thing we had it common. Butters and I always worried about Kenny. We both hated it when he died, and we always cried if we knew about it. Everyone else in this town was used to his deaths - to the point where his best friends don't even look in his direction when it happens, and their lines of "They killed Kenny" and "You bastards!" died out long, long ago. But we still worried. To the point where we would cry until he came back to life once again.

"Ahh, I'm fine - I was just hit by a truck." He says it like it's nothing. It's everything now.

Both Butters and I frown deeply at him. "Where did you go this time?" I am trying not to cry that he died, and I blink away the tears at threaten to spill themselves. He would probably just laugh and call me a pussy or something for crying over his death like Cartman always does.

"What? Oh, I went to Purgatory this time." He said it without emotion for the concept, and for a moment, my heart lurched into my throat. Maybe it had been him just a little bit ago when I was… no. No, it wasn't. It couldn't have been him. Butters didn't let it affect him though. Instead, he just asked, "When did you get back?" I secretly hoped that he would confirm my suspicions. Just a little thing to keep me going, and a little more to get me out of this town. But, then I hoped he would say hours before - long, long before I had gotten up from bed. Just to help steady me.

"Just a little while ago."

I felt dizzy. Butters stood straight, and even managed to walk up next to Kenny, whose eyes followed him as he did.

I looked up to Kenny, but I wanted to avert my gaze. "Oh. So, you weren't there long, were you?" To this, Kenny only shrugged, giving a little, "Nah, not really." He lifted a hand, averting his gaze to across the street as the wind blew toward him, running his hand through his blond hair. Butters and I both stared at him. He was like a god trapped in a teenage boy's body.

Although he was poor, he had a gorgeous face. There wasn't any objection to be found on his skin - no blemishes, no freckles. I guess he was just one of those lucky people who when they hit puberty, just didn't get growing pains or acne. It was one thing I shared in common with Kenny too. I never had any blemish on my face, and my parents said I should have thanked God that I didn't, which made me laugh out loud at the face of God and Butters pray. And then those two bastards who proclaim themselves my parents grounded me because it wasn't normal for a teenager to not get acne in puberty. Those dirty…

Kenny interrupted me with a little tap on my shoulder, smiling down at me, keeping his hand on my shoulder after pushing my hair out of the way. "You know, Buttercup," he said, almost in a quiet whisper. "You would make a really pretty girl."

Was it possible for the Kenny McCormick to call a girl "pretty?" If it was, I had certainly, not in my entire life, never once heard him call any being on the face of the planet "pretty." He thought I was pretty? Well, if I was a girl - I'd be pretty?

Butters smiled brightly back at him, and I could feel my heart pounding so hard against my chest that I was entirely certain Kenny could hear it. But if he did - he obviously didn't take notice of it. "Well, gee, thanks, Ken," he told him, and then we gave him the biggest, brightest smile we two could muster. And, for once, I didn't need to force myself to smile. Well, I never need to force myself into a good mood around Kenny. He was always something different. This boy…

This Kenny McCormick was the most important thing I had in common with Butters.


	3. Chapter Two: Ride

Naïveté

This day was certainly different already. First & foremost, Kenny was at my bus stop. Of course, his death had pulled him here in the first place, but he still could have gone across town to go hang out with his friend. I do enjoy the fact that Kenny would have rather stayed to chat with me, but it was a little unusual for him to want to do anything relative to anything that even came close to my name, unless I was the only person there was to talk to.

But, now that I think a little bit about it, Kenny & I are fairly close friends. In this instance, I don't need to say that he & Butters are close friends. Around Kenny, I don't need to force myself to act like Butters - that usual happiness just comes right along with his presence. It's been like that since about the time the gang - consisting of Cartman, Stan & Kyle, really - had kicked me out of the group when Kenny "permanently died." Of course, as per usual, he came back, but it was when he came back that we started to actually hang out a bit more. That was when I began to realize I felt a little differently towards him than I did for everybody else. But, it was a good different. About that time, Kenny didn't have to try to make me smile, and the more we hung out, the more I began to realize exactly what it was that I was feeling for him, which overall had confused me a little at first. Well, rather, it was more confusing for Butters than for me.

Around the time that I was in the fourth grade with the other boys, Butters had adapted a little crush on one of the Raisins' girls when we had all gone to Raisins to try to cheer Stan up. I think the main reason that Butters had adapted this crush was because she was pretty, and, hey, even I will admit that she was pretty. In fact, she was almost gorgeous. But, I think the only reason Butters "fell" for her was because I had adapted a girl crush on her. Well, you know what a girl crush is, right? If "you" exist, that is. But, either way, a "girl crush" is when a girl starts to have feelings for another girl - not like lesbian feelings, but, just, like, they find the girl to be sort of a role model for them. That's what a girl crush is - just the idolization of another woman by a woman. And that is exactly what I had developed for Lexus. But, Butters was straight - like my parents had tried to raise me to be. They tried to raise me so I could like girls, because they thought homosexuality was a sin against their ever-beloved God. So, Butters, trying to teach himself to be straight, developed more than a girl crush that I felt for Lexus, and ended up having a real "crush" on the Raisins' girl. But, of course, it was only one-sided, and little Butters got his heart stepped on. Inside, I was happy that it hurt so badly when she "left." It meant that he at least tried, and I had completely rejected the idea of being straight sexually. I was loving the fact that Butters' heart was trampled over by that skank of a waitress, even though it hurt me a little too, even though I didn't like her in the first place. Because that meant that I didn't like that girl. It meant that I didn't like any girl. So, while Butters was brooding over his lamenting sorrow for his loss of a "girlfriend" & being "dumped," I was overjoyed & pushing him back into the life that he could have that was actually made of something good, and thus pushed him away from those faggy goth kids. I understood where those goth kids were coming from, but they just took it to one extreme too large for me. And that was just ridiculous, because I went far enough with that already. Yet, at the time, I was also brooding with Butters. Not at the loss of his "girlfriend," but of the fact that I would have to come to accept that I didn't like women, that I wanted be part of the women.

I had always known I had wanted to be a girl, and widely accepted that (which eventually lead to Marjorine & all of her glorious fun adventures, and my whole cross-dressing escapade that lead up afterwards, along with growing my hair out). I had also known that I didn't liked girls, just wanted to be a part of them. But I hadn't come to accept that I still liked a part of humanity at all until Kenny came back about to me afterward. He was the true thing that led me to the realization of my taking to men instead of women. And now, it had become something I shared with Butters.

Think of Butters as homoflexible, per say.

His flexibility on the matter, however, was stuck to him because of my fear of my parents. Surely, my father would no longer mind my homosexuality if it was counter-acted by my role as Butters, who "still liked women," even if it was just a fraction of an emotion towards the female counter half of our society.

Perhaps I am simply overanalyzing my parents' wishes for me, and are therefore forcing them into my theatrical role of Butters Stotch to play those wishes out. Maybe if I told them I - not Butters - were a complete homosexual they would still love me. Maybe they would accept me, even if they did just ground me for a little while.

Oh yes, but the way, those last two sentences were for shit & giggles, as it is highly doubted my parents would ever do that. But, aren't parents supposed to love you? Like, an unconditional love that overwhelms all obstacles - you know, because blood is thicker than water? Well, when they told you that, they lied. Love isn't unconditional - it always ends sometime, doesn't it? And a parent's love for their child wears thin eventually, usually right along with their patience. Furthermore, I'm sure your parents are the same as well. I mean, if "you" have parents that is. For all I know, you could be an asexually reproduced organism from outer space or something, or something relative to _Kyle XY_. But if not, than you probably can relate to what I'm saying. I know Kenny can relate at least. His parents are practically none-existent. But if they are there, they are probably screaming at him or each other, or even beating him as my parents to on the occasion to me.

But I digress - as you can tell by now, I get off topic so easily. I would much rather dabble on the subject of Kenny than my parents, so, without further ado, back to Kenny.

By this point in time, Kenny has taken to leaning on my shoulder. He's taller than me by quite a few inches, so when I look at him, I have to look upward at a higher degree now that he's closer. The fact of having to crane my neck slightly to look at him was slightly irking, but it was nice having Kenny so close.

Originally, I think we were talking about Kenny's death last night (which was slightly uncomfortable for me to talk about), but now we've managed to get onto the subject of school, of which we are both dreading going to, while somehow passing through the most zany subjects like football versus football (soccer, we Americans call it), aliens, and homework. Why or how we got to those subjects from the former I will probably never know, but Kenny is definitely one of those people you can easily talk to. Well, at least, he seems to be for me. It does baffle me, though, how we seem to stumble across all these rather… debatable topics & stories that most randomly appear that rarely ever connect to each other & enjoy talking about them. But, between us, it's just how it goes (or, as Kenny put it, "that's just how we roll").

But soon, other kids start to arrive, who give Kenny and I strange looks. Well, they are mostly aimed at Kenny, as every single one of them knows that he doesn't live on this side of town. In a town as small as this one, everyone knows everyone & their mother.

Kenny doesn't seem to mind the stares - or maybe he just doesn't notice them. It's odd, though, he hasn't put his hood back up yet, which is quite unusual. Kenny loves to hideaway in his hood - maybe it's a comfort thing, but, lately, Ken doesn't wear his hood much around me. Which, personally, I like: I much prefer being able to clearly hear (and see) him, even though I do understand his usually muffled cries over his parka hood, but, occasionally, trying to decipher his words can become a somewhat annoying & troublesome feat of its own while trying to continue to formulate your own response to carry on the conversation & look like you didn't have to give his words too much thoughts to figure out what they were. Multitasking is fun & all, but that's just bullshit.

Judging by the crowd, the bus will probably be here relatively shortly to take us to the foundation of our lives - the ever-dreaded, most disgusting place on earth - public school. As soon as I think that, though, I begin to hear the clattering of our bus in the distance as the bus driver speedily rumbles over potholes that I believe have been there since I have been alive - and quite possibly even longer than that. The fact that the bus is here not only fills me with dread for the daily ritual of the bus ride to school, but it also adds a sense of loathing depression for the rest of the day. I sigh aloud as I wonder if I am just stuck in _Groundhog Day_ or something relative to the sort, and, yes, you better know what _Groundhog Day_ is, because it was most possibly one of the best movies of all time. But in case you haven't seen it - seeing as you really _are_ probably an alien from outer-space with no parents & can just somehow see into my mind - it was a movie from back in 1993. It was basically about a weather reporter who seems to be living the same day - which also happens to be the worst day of his life - over & over… and _over_ again. I think it happened once in a very similar concept in that one show on the CW - Supernatural. I'm sure you know it, or have at least heard of it. It was in the episode "Mystery Spot," in which Dead kept dying in the most unusual ways - and, oh, yes, every time he died, the day started over again for Sam. By the end of the episode, Dean had died maybe a hundred times and, speaking of dying, not only have I gone off on a tangent that is so far from my original topic, but that original topic was Kenny. How dare I! Really.

I blink myself out of reverie of _Supernatural_ & _Groundhog Day_ related things & look up to Kenny. The bus stops just in front of us & he has the most quizzical look on his face as he looks at me. I can feel my cheeks flush a little in embarrassment, but I smile at him brightly. I asked him what's wrong & he just shakes his head, giving a little chuckle. "Nothin'," he says in that odd drawl of his, a little smile on his lips. He then looks back up from the ground & ushers me forward to get on the bus, saying we better get on the evil yellow vehicle before the bus driver (yes, the same one we've had since elementary school) yells at us to "get our puny asses on the bus." Which, you know, she probably would.

I start to make my way to my usual seat on the bus. My seat is right across from Clyde - who I easily spot from his own seat. I most normally sit across from Clyde on the bus & we'll talk if he doesn't have his MP3 lodged into his ears. Which, he usually does, but he'll take one out to talk to me most of the time. Clyde's a good kid - no, no; he's a great kid! But, his friends are rather… persnickety, should I say? Quite vulgar as well. Craig, for instance, and who happens to be leaning on his shoulder right now, is quite the… artistic one. He has a knack of flipping the bird, even if he likes you. Around Tweek & Clyde, though, he seems to be a bit more restful than if he is alone. If he's alone, you just don't want to piss him off, so, it's best when you find him around Clyde or Tweek. Speaking of Tweek - I see him now. He's peering over the edge of his own seat just behind Clyde & Craig's, being twitchy as usual. He's probably trying to get Craig's attention or something, but Craig appears to be either ignoring him or listening to his music as well - I can't quite tell right now. Eventually, Tweek might give up or Craig with just give him his usual answer - the middle finger - and then he'll stop & sit back.

From when Tweek was little up until now, he had calmed down quite a bit. He still has minor ticks now & again, but they are more or less far & few between nowadays. He is a lot less paranoid than he used to be, and has become… rather optimistic as of late, for whatever reason. I think it's from all the years he has hung out with Clyde, Token & Craig. And, Token is probably hanging out with Red right now. They usually sit together on the bus anyway, but Token's bus stop is next.

I finally take my seat - and, if today could get any weirder, it just did, because Kenny just sat down next to me. I look up at him, and he looks down at me with a, "What?" I merely shake my head at him, keeping my eyes on his own blue ones. "Nothin'," I say very simply. Clyde, from across the bus, looks over at me, raising his eyebrows. Kenny doesn't notice because he facing me with his back to Clyde, but I do. I shrug back at him, and he shakes his head with a smile on his lips, looking forward once again. I smile too, then look back to Kenny, who takes a glance over his shoulder quickly, then back to me. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I smile, laugh & shake my head at his notion.

I sit back in the seat & look at Kenny once more. "So, why'd you sit with me, Ken?"

He blinks at me. "Why not?" I squint at him, having no idea what he meant by that. He just laughs. "Just felt like it, I guess."

"You just felt like what?" Wendy asks from behind us - leaning over the seat. Wendy's like an older sister to me - a definite role model for most of the girls. She's definitely a political stand-up, though, but it's to be respected in her that she stands up for what she believes in. Not only is she smart, though, she's gorgeous. She's definitely one of the most popular girls in school.

"Doing your mom, Wends," Bebe adds from beside her, and she & a few others laugh. Kenny grins at Wendy, who glares backward at Bebe. Turning back around, she looks at Kenny & I. "Doing what - that isn't my mom?"

Kenny gave a hearty laugh. "Well, aside from doing your mom, I meant doing Buttercup here." If it was possible to choke on air, that'd be me.

"Gosh, Kenny, you're so funny." Wendy says sarcastically, but she smiles anyway, before turning to me with a wink. I blush & say, "H - he meant sitting with me! Sitting with me on the bus!"

Wendy laughs and sits back in the seat next to Bebe, who scoffs. "Sure he did," she says.

"He did! Honest!" I pout & turn around. Bebe's a nice girl, but she takes things to a very sexual level. She's one of those girls who, if you're her friend, she'll grope you from behind to compare boob sizes. She's even done it to me before - quite a few times, actually. She hasn't change much since elementary school when I first became friends with her & the other girls. She was like the other half of the package to Wendy.

"I'm sorry, Ken," I say, looking at him with an apologetic pout. "They're just a little over-protective."

Kenny smiles in turn. "That's cool - I like over-protective parents." I - and surely everyone else does - assume that that meant that he likes his girlfriend's parents as over-protective.

"I heard that!" Wendy says. "Now stay away from my daughter, you sex fiend."

"Wendy!" I shout, turning back around, completely embarrassed.

"Oh, honey," Bebe says, rolling her eyes. "You know how your father is." I blush. Kenny laughs.

Wendy sits up in her seat & pokes my cheek. "Now, use protection, honey," she jokes. Kenny wiggles his eyebrows like he does at usual innuendos.

"Yes, sir," he says, winking at me.

"That's ma'am to you, numb nuts," she laughs, and Kenny does too. I can't get over my embarrassment to laugh.

"Come on, you two," Bebe says, sitting up with a pout in my direction. "You're the poor girl!" At that, Wendy eases off, sitting back in her seat while crossing her arms over her chest & giving Kenny a joking death-glare. I sigh & turn around, mouthing an apology to Kenny, who just grins in response to it, telling me that it's fine.

The bus hit's a pothole & then the engine dies out slowly, and we come to a stop. This is Token's stop, and he gets on the bus & makes his way to the back to sit next to Red, as usual. The whole bus is uniform, really. Except for Kenny today, but that's because he died last night in my side of town. Next would be his usual stop, with Kyle, Stan & Cartman.

I sit back in my seat & sigh softly, closing my eyes. I can feel Kenny snap his head in my direction, as if he was going to ask what was wrong. "Just a weird day," I tell him, telling him not to worry about it. He chuckles softly.

"It's South Park, what do you expect?" I shrug lightly. What don't I expect of this place? Everything happens in South Park, so what won't go down? But I guess that's how everyone sees the world, don't they? With the 'why me's & the 'how come the world is so cruel to only me's & whole boatload of 'me, me, me.' It's a little sickening really, but I guess it's just human tendency to think the rest of the world is plotting their demise behind their backs.

"I guess that makes sense. But today just seems a little more unusual that… usual, you know?" I ask, looking up at him. He just looks at me, a little confused. I shake my head. "Nevermind then."

"Okay?" He says, his little drawl rolling over his words. He slumps down in the seat as well as the bus engine slows once again until we come to a halt in front of the gang's bus stop. The doors open & Kenny slumps down in the seat even further - his knees up on the seat in front of us & head almost touching the bottom of the seat. I chuckle at him. "What are you doing?" I ask, giggling. He looks at me from the corner of his eye.

"Hiding."

"From?" I ask, grinning.

"Cartman." And - speak of the Devil himself (no, not Satan or Damien, they're different) - the bus tilts to one side just a little. Cartman must have stepped onto the bus.

"Move it, fat ass!" I hear, and I can easily place it as Kyle.

"Ay! I'm goin', you fuckin' Jew!" Kenny slumps down in his seat some more. I can hear Kyle fuming from my seat with Ken, but Kyle doesn't retort, because the bus driver snaps at him this time & gets him to temporarily shut up, and then tells him to "sit his ass up front." He does so, then crosses his arms, grunts & stares out the window. Kyle & Stan make their way to the seat in front of us & turn around to look at me, Stan resting one elbow on the back of their seat.

"Hey, Butters. Do you know where Kenny is?" Kyle asks, but kind-of quietly, as if asking it were a secret. I lift my finger & point downward, and both boys follow my gaze. Kenny half-waves up at them exasperatedly, his ever-sarcastic smile on his lips. "Dude, where were you?"

"Yeah, man. You didn't come over last night - it was just Kyle & I then." Stan asked, giving a little wave of his hand that hung over the back of the seat that motioned between himself & Kyle.

"Ah," Kenny chortled, sitting up a little more in his seat. "Sorry, guys. I kinda died last night…"

"Ah." Both of the boys in front of us said in unison, but Kyle continues. "So why didn't you come to the bus stop this morning?" Kenny shrugged, half-looking at me.

"Didn't wanna go that far."

"That far? Where were you?" Stan asked, lifting an eyebrow at his friend.

"I was with Buttercup here," Kenny atones, pointing at me. I look at him blankly, almost in question, but I turn my gaze back to Kyle & Stan, who have also turned their sights upon me - as well as Kenny. Kyle nods vaguely in response.

Stan opens his mouth to continue & say something, but then we hear Cartman yelling from the front of the bus - something that sounds like he's calling the bus driver a "dirty Jew-loving cunt licker." Basically, all attention was turned toward him. Even Clyde took out his earphones - it's a miracle! - to see what Cartman had gotten himself into.

As soon as Cartman yells that, though, the bus driver slams the brakes, and we all almost hit the back of the seat in front of us when she does. She turns around & stands up, then grabs Cartman by the collar of his shirt. We don't exactly hear what she has to say, but it must've been something real nasty for her to have gone so quite like she did. No one makes a sound, even in the back of the bus - everyone wants to know what Cartman did now.

She turns, Cartman in hand, and opens the doors to the bus, and literally _kicks _him down the stairs to the ground, to which he pulls a rather Craig-like move - he turns around and flips her off when his ass hits the concrete. "Fuck you faggots! I'm going home!" She rolls her eyes & closes the doors in his face, then sits back down & we continue on our way, with a pissed-off little fat-ass turning in the other direction to go home. Of course, he'll be to school in a few hours, maybe even earlier than that.

At first, the bus is quiet. And then, Kenny bursts into laughter. Craig follows, and then everybody joins in. Even the bus driver seemed to sneak in a few giggles of delight with herself. The whole bus is just roaring with laughter, and as it slowly dies down, we all return back to our usual conversations with each other. Just another day, it seems.

- - -

When we arrived at school, Kenny was first off the bus, even though we were sitting toward the back of the bus. I don't know how he did it exactly, but he did it. He sad he had "somewhere to be."

Inwardly, I was jealous & suspicious of what he was doing. He was most likely meeting someone - he had a fancy of doing that - and for that, I was jealous. Not only because that someone wasn't me, but because he had someone who was willing to wait for him. Of course, I had friends who would do that, but it wasn't the same, really, when you thought about it.

Because best friends & boyfriends are different.

Or at least, that's what Kyle told me once, but we won't exactly get into that right now.

Instead, I head off to class as I usually do, but before we go to class, most of the students hang out in the cafeteria until some of the teachers come around to tell us we have to go. Of course, I stay close to Wendy & Bebe - the boys won't usually bother me much if I hang around them, because most of the boys like them, or just refuse to get near the large cluster of girls that are chatting about things that boys won't usually want to hear, unless, of course, you're me. I, in fact, join in on the conversations.

The conversations with the girls are always fun. Of course, there's plenty of teasing & plenty of compliments too, and we always have a good time together. All of the girls' parents are really nice as well. They seem to understand my predicament & have yet to tell my parents, and even, on the occasion, some of their families invite me to spend the night - of course, my parents always decline because they believe one of the girls would take my virginity or something odd like that. Parents - I mean, really?

But, nonetheless, I love hanging out with the girls. They're all so sweet.

As we pass a few of the boys in the hallway, though, a few boys glare in my direction, past Wendy & Bebe. I can hear them make snide remarks & one of the boys grabs his junk & thrusts into his hand. I frown & look away, leaving the boys to chuckle at me, my friends not having even taken notice or taken action to do anything if they did. Inside, I feel terrible.

Outside I smile.


	4. Chapter Three: Teasing

*Warning: explicit language is used frequently.

- - -

- - -

The first bell of the day rings out loud and clear over the cafeteria. Everyone really ignores it except the teachers who try to make us leave. After that bell, first period starts in almost twenty minutes or so, and everyone sees it as a pointless noise in the background of their conversation. But, for people like me, we try to vamoose and get to class as soon as possible - we're the first in class because we're the first ones that want to leave the cafeteria and all its chatter and giggling hordes of dumb teenagers behind to sit in a quiet classroom for twenty or more minutes.

First period I have a college algebra course. I really don't like math nor - although it comes very easily to me - but my parents made me stick with taking it through all of my high school career, even though I could have dropped it after I passed algebra II when I was a freshman. Nonetheless, I head to first period after I wave goodbye to the girls.

I make my way quickly through the halls so I can get straight to first period quickly and avoid any boys in the hallway, to elude their ever-lasting taunts. With the halls so empty and wide - maybe forty or fifty feet wide even, which seems pointless to me because this town probably has less of a population now than it did before it was even founded - my footsteps sound like small claps of thunder, but maybe it's the small amount of heel on my shoes that makes that noise as I walk down the linoleum halls to the auditorium.

You see, my class is on the other side of the school, so I can either go through the auditorium or through one of the best hang-out spots for the rest of the population in this god dammed place. Tough choice, right?

I click my way down the halls of the school until the auditorium comes into view, and then a little smile appears on my face - the sight of the auditorium in front of me means I'm home free! I feel my pace start to increase as I make my way to the wooden double doors, my messenger bag waving side-to-side against me as I try to gain speed slightly to get there just a little bit faster. Almost there yet, I reach out my hand towards the handle, fingers ready to push down on that hinge that will open the door and provide me with a little bit of security for a little while before first period. My fingers quickly dance across the cool metal of the door on the left as I finish the thought and I quickly push down and swing the door open - and walk forward and gracefully find myself doing a face-plant right into the door.

I groaned and step backward, raising a hand up to my nose to rub off the pain a little. "Sheesh," I say to myself, huffing lightly before trying the door again - to no avail. "What is up today?" Pouting, I turn to the door on the right - maybe that one will work, right? Because some of the doors in this place always seem to pull tricks on you. Some doors will open, and others just won't. But it's funny - I usually use the door on the left. Maybe that one just became locked overnight?

I try the right door hinge, and it doesn't budge either. I gulp lightly, licking my lips dryly. Does this mean I'll have to use that godforsaken hallway?! I hope not. I mean, I've used the auditorium as a safe-haven to first period almost everyday since freshmen year! This isn't gonna happen today. Preferably not ever.

Biting my lower lip inward, I turn back around, clutching some of my books against my chest with both hands, bag swinging at my side. Looking up from under my yellow bangs, I can see a few students walking down the hallway - and guess who? Oh, it's my best friend in the entire world, Eric Cartman. Pee-_shaw_! If someone ever told you that Eric and I were friends, please, do check them into a mental hospital immediately - because they are illegally insane. And, like always, I'm going to do my best to avoid him. Today's morning bus ride was just a stroke of luck - him sitting upfront (and Kenny next to me, of course). Nothing more. Speaking of the bus ride - I'm surprised he's here this quickly after getting kicked off the bus! His mom must have expected it to happen or something and known to pick him up, because I don't think he has a cell phone yet. But if he did, he'd probably be crank-calling me nonstop, I'm sure. Although, he may have one, and just didn't think of cranking me yet and -- I digress! What I should be doing is getting the hell of out here!

Trying to be as quiet as possible so he and the other gathering students don't notice my presence, I try to take a little leap and dodge his view with a wall. However, my shoes - having a little bit of a heel on them - disagree, and I stumble a little on the way, but I don't think he noticed me - especially the part of my falling down and my papers scattering everywhere.

"Ha! Way to go, you fuckin' klutzy fag," I hear Cartman scoff from behind me. I frown deeply; of course I was wrong about him not seeing!

"Piss off, asshole." I look up - is that who I think it is? It is! Kenny to the rescue! Like a knight in shining armor. But I swear I didn't see him before either. He must be a fucking ninja in disguise (as well as a knight), I swear…

Kenny kneels down to me with a little smile on his face and begins picking up some of my scattered papers. "Need some help?" It's funny that he asked, yet he had already started helping.

"God! Get a fuckin' room, fags, and bang each other 'til you drop there!" Cartman screeches in the annoying voice of his. But Kenny gives a hearty-laugh.

"Too late." Kenny winks at me, then looks up at Cartman with his Cheshire cat grin just in time so he doesn't see me blush a little bit. "But I bet you'd like to see that wouldn't you?"

"Hell nah!" Cartman roars in response, then laughs in a slightly maniacal manner. "But at least I know what you did last night."

"Oh, that's right!" Kenny snaps his fingers as if he remembered something important. "I forget to tell your mom thanks for last night! Can you tell her for me? Yeah, thanks, dude, I knew you would for me." Cartman obviously does not like that, as he sticks up both his middle fingers at Kenny, who's just grinning back at him wickedly.

"'Ey! Ya know what? Fuck you!"

"I know you want to bang me, but please - my sex life is now taken up by Buttercup here, remember? And as of last night, your mom too." I can feel my cheeks burning. I want them to stop growing red but they just won't, and so I force Butters' personality back into mind and glance up between them, acting slightly confused even though my heart's beat is going miles a minute at just the implication of what Kenny said about us. Oh, although, the thought of it is so wonderfully, fantastically glorious and _so_ not something I should be thinking about in public…

"God, Kenny! You're so gay!"

"Only for you, big boy!" And with that, Kenny blows him a kiss, to which Cartman flushes out into a highly appalled state. I feel jealousy burn inside of me even though I know Kenny is joking about this whole conversation.

"Ew, nah, I'm nah a gay fag like you, Kenneh!" To this, Kenny blows a raspberry.

"You wish you were a gay fag like me!" Kenny says this so easily, as if it were a completely true statement. "You're just in the closet, you fucking lard-ass." Cartman is just offended by this point, and is standing aback slightly.

"Screw you butt-fuckin' faggots! I'm goin' home!" Liar - he's not going home; he's really goin' to hang out in the hallway and then leave to bother me in first block.

But with that, Cartman turns away and does that little marching-strut thing that he does whenever he gets offended. I look back to Kenny, who's just grinning as usual. "Ignore him," he says once he catches me looking at him without looking up from. "He's just a closet-cased pussy who's PMSing 'cause he can't get any action."

I snort at the idea. Cartman couldn't be gay if his life depended on it! Well, except for his cousin of course, but he always denies that instance, and we won't get into that otherwise - okay, yes we will. When he was pretending he had tourettes, he admitted that he and his cousin touched wieners or something when they were five. I swear - I had never laughed so hard in my life. But Butters smiles weakly at Kenny, laughing softly too. "I see."

"Yeah, so…" I look up from gathering the last of my papers, and Kenny seems to have trailed off from whatever he was going to say.

"Uh, Ken?" But he doesn't look up, just squints at something - that paper on top of the pile that he's holding. I lean over to him, trying to see what it is that he's just staring at. And, of course, on top is that sheet - you know the one - with the initials all over it and the hearts and stuff? Of course. Of course. Of fucking course that'd be one of the ones he picks up with 'BK' written all over it! Of course he would - oh, I am _screwed_…

Suddenly, his head jerks upright and falls back onto my shoulder and he holds the papers up in the air, waving them back and forth. "Okay, okay! You gotta tell me who this 'K' person is!" He giggles, a big smile across his face.

"What?!" I ask in shock, and even Butters is a little worried about this. "No!"

"Come on, come on! You gotta, Buttercup! You just gotta!" Kenny pouts over my shoulder, puckering his lips out and giving me this big, blue puppy dog eyes like he does. God, why'd he have to be so cute?!

"No! K isn't anyone! It's no one!" I say, and try to lean over him, groping for the papers. Curse my short arms! I can't reach, especially now that he's holding them farther away.

"It's gotta be someone!" He whines, waving the paper at me from a distance. "Tell me or I'll just start guessing!"

"No - it's no one, really!" Was I, maybe, by that, implying that he was no one? Hell no! I just don't want him to know - I _can't_ let him know - he'll be able to guess that it's him and then he'll be creeped out and never speak to me ever again! Cover-up lies, where are you when I need you?!

He hops upright off of me and holds the paper toward the ceiling, to which I have to stand on my tip-toes to try and reach it. "Is it… Karen? You know - that one blonde chick in our philosophical class-thingy? You know, with Goodwin?"

"N-no! It's not Karen, it's - just, give it back, Kenny!" I jump, but he spins on his heels, reeling the paper away from me.

"What about Karee? Is it her?" He asks, walking quickly enough to get away from me and holding the paper close to his face enough to try and study it.

"No, Ken!" I say, moving after him, holding my other books and papers close to my chest so they won't fall as well and give away any more details. God, if he found those other papers…

"Well, what about…" he pauses, twirling again so that I can't get my papers from him. "I can't think of any other name that starts with a K." God, this kid is an idiot sometimes! Does he know that is _own_ name starts with K? Right now, though, I'm glad that he is.

"Good! Because it's no one!" Finally, I get my papers back from him and shove them back into place with the other papers. "No one - happy?" He frowns.

"Gosh, just tell me! Please?" He pouts again, leaning over to pout right in my face. I frown, but don't necessarily object to him being that close to my face.

"You know what?" I say, giving in. "I'll tell you. But do you really wanna know?"

"Yes! I _really_ wanna know!"

"Fine! It's…" I pause. You know, dramatic effect.

"Come on! Tell me already!"

"Burger King."

He stares at me blankly for a minute, his excitement and anticipation gone. "I love… Burger King." He takes a few moments that feel like minutes to actually respond, staring at me in a dumb-founded way.

"Burger… King?"

"Burger King." He doesn't say anything again.

"Burger King?"

"Yes! It's Burger King, Kenny! I love Burger King - you know, Burger King…?" He nods weakly.

"Why… Burger King?"

"I dunno! I was having cravings, I guess."

"For Burger King?"

"For Burger King." He laughs out loud this time - all sense of confusion gone and his normal frame of mind back once again.

"Cravings!" He laughs again and then slings his arm over my shoulder, pulling me along as he walks toward that always-crowded hallway. "Maybe you're preggo, little Buttercup!"

"Pregnant? I don't think men can get pregnant, Ken…" He shrugs.

"I heard on the news once that some guy from England got pregnant or something."

"A man? Men can't get pregnant, Kenny! You know, the mommy gets pregnant and then the stork comes with the baby…" He looks over at me, staring at me with cool - but not surprised, really - shock.

"You know, you're so smart that it's stupid." I give him a confused look.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Yuh - it kinda does. You just have to think about it a little. Like, for instance, you also have to think about how a man can get pregnant! 'Cause, you know, he can."

"No," Butters states. "Only mommies get pregnant. Where were you in health class?" Kenny scoffs a laugh.

"No, where were _you_ in health class?" He asks, pointing at me with a confused look on his face.

"I was there! I mean, I was even in the same class as you, Kenny!" Butters almost pleaded, and Kenny shrugged, smiling upward and to himself, joking slightly.

"Eh, well, I'm telling you - men _can_ get pregnant! It happened, they had pictures and everything. I mean, don't you remember back in fourth grade, when Mr. Garrison was actually Ms. Garrison and told us that some guy on that show with Oprah got pregnant and then she flipped out and went berserk and even put her new penis on a mouse or whatever?" I did remember actually - when Ms. Garrison told us about it, Kenny and I were playing in the sandbox, and asked us if we had seen his - or her, at the time - penis. So, I nodded slightly. "Yeah, see? So men can get pregnant!" He then laughed in triumph and I shook my head.

"Nuh-huh! I mean, Mister, er, miss Garrison even said that it was a women who became a man! And _then_ got pregnant as a man! So she was a still a she - not a man."

"True! But you know how gays have sex, Buttercup?" Kenny leaned in close and Butters looked back at him with a confused look, even though I knew and was blushing deeply already - hidden away inside Butters by this point, for the most part. "Well," Ken said, taking a step closer to whisper in my ear. "They, you know, do it up the ass!" Butters looked down, making a little 'O' shape with his mouth. "And a woman get pregnant when she and a man have sex - which is where? Oh, yeah! The _front_, in her vagina!" I can't help but wince. That word is just so gross to me. "Unless she had some kind of mess up in the operation you know?"

"Oh" was all Kenny got as a response.

"Yeah - kinda confusing, isn't it? See, although she was a man at the time, she still managed to get pregnant! Which means _he_ got pregnant! While he was still a he! And this guy didn't get a sex change - he was born a dude! So men _can_ get pregnant!" But I shook my head.

"I still don't believe you!"

"Fine," Kenny shrugged, looking away in a very cool fashion, hands in his pockets. Then, his eyes gleamed and he jumped forward, waving frantically at someone across the hall. "Hey, Stan! Kyle!"

The two looked up from leaning against the lockers near the crowded hallway that connected the two sides of the school, Stan's arms around Kyle's waist and in the pockets of his boyfriend's pants in a rather public display of affection. Unlike when Butters was still young and more naïve than 'he' was now, he didn't curse the two super best friends slash boyfriends for being homosexual as he probably would have as a fourth grader, and instead smiled happily at them both - I smiled at the too. I helped Kyle with that, after all.

"Sup, Kenny?" Stan nodded at him and Kyle leaned back against his raven-haired boyfriend, practically billowing into him like a kid into a fluffy pillow. Stan just smiled in turn.

"So, isn't it true that men can get pregnant?" Kenny asked in a very calm manner, standing straight with his hands in his pockets again.

Stan just gave him a confused look. "I don't think so…" Kyle raised an eyebrow at Kenny curiously when his boyfriend answered.

"I'm serious! I saw it on the news. A man got pregnant."

"Well…" Kyle tried to justify this a little bit, thinking about things thoroughly as he always did. He was so analytical about everything, but it was nice. "Was this man really a girl before? You know, like that one female-to-male on the Oprah show that got pregnant that drove Mr. Garrison wild and made him become a man again?" But Kenny just shook his head.

"Nah," he said firmly, shaking some blond hair off his forehead. "He was a _real boy_!" He said it in a tone that mocked that old Disney movie… _Pinocchio_, I think it was...

Kyle bit down on his lower lip secretively, trying to hide that he was, blushing very, very faintly. "I see," was all he said in turn to this, eyes shifting down quickly and back at Stan for a brief moment before going back to his feet. "I see."

"Uh, well, dude," Stan said, giving a confused look. "Are you _sure_ it wasn't a woman that got a sex change? Like with Garrison…" but Kenny shook his head.

"Nuh-huh. A hundred percent positive that it was a man - no sex change or nothing."

Kyle stared blankly at Kenny for a moment, then turned to Stan. "Stan, I think we need to talk…" I'm pretty sure I've never heard Kenny laugh harder than he laughed right now. Honestly, I think Ken has always known that the couple in front of us has probably had rather copious amounts of sex in their free time - Hell, they'd dedicated days of the week to each other - and although I'm absolutely sure of that, Kenny still laughs. But I just don't know what it is. Though, I laugh (inwardly) too - and then smile at Kyle. He did get what he wanted after all, right? Stan, that is. In many senses, it appears. So I'm happy for him. We all know, though, what they're going to talk about, and its not about a breakup, I can tell, so I have no need to worry. Even so, I'm still a little worried for Kyle, but in another sense, ya know? Maybe you don't, though… are you even there? I wonder if you exist anyway…

"Well," I say nicely, smiling at them both. "I guess we'll be going then. See you later, fellas." Kyle smiles brightly at me as I reach for Kenny - does he know? - and tug him gently down the hall.

"Yeah," Kyle calls after us as Kenny waves later to them. "See you later, Buttercup." Stan chuckles at this, until Kyle turns to him and his face goes a little more serious.

I look over at Kenny again, who's just staring at me with some look I just can't place. But it's pretty intense. Jealousy…? "Uh, Ken?"

"I thought I was the only one that called you Buttercup." He says, frowning and stopping in place to cross his arms.

"Eh?" I look at him curiously a moment, then laugh at him. I mean, was he really jealous over that? Slowly, my laughter starts escalating into a fit of laughter. You know, that kind that makes your stomach hurt?

"Hey!" He says, bending over to grab my cheek, pulling it while I laugh. "It's not funny! I thought I was the only one!" Though, because he's pulling my cheek, my laughs have turned into little squeals of pain.

"Hey, hey, let go, let go!" He does, but stares at me like he won't live it down. Rubbing my cheek absently, I say, "Was it really that big of a deal?" He purses his lips, looks the other direction and shrugs. "Then why'd you pinch my cheek?" I growl half-playfully, frowning.

"I felt the need to. I mean, everyone's just stealin' my nicknames," he says, his little Southern drawl coming into life when he says it.

I huff. "So you pinch me? Yeah, thanks, love you too, Kenny."

He grins. "You know I love ya."

Inside, I want to cry. Outside, Butters laughs, smiles brightly, takes it as a joke, a usual thing to say, gives a little, "Yep!" I know he doesn't mean it the way I want him to. I know he doesn't. Maybe I shouldn't have said it first place, but, even if its just for a second, I can attempt to believe that he means it just these few times that he does say it. The way he says it is the same way that I say it to Wendy and Bebe and, you know, sometimes even Kyle. But when we say it then, we don't mean it like how I would say it to Kenny.

I wonder…

He smiles at me brightly as starts walking again, raising a hand to clap me lightly on the back.

If I should tell him…

I smile back at him, then follow after him with a faint smile.

How I feel about him?

"So," Kenny says, hands stuffed back into his orange pockets of his short-sleeved hoodie, turning around and walking backwards to face me. "You think that Stan and Kyle are talking about Kyle's new-found possibility of getting preggo in his eggo?"

I flush lightly. "Hey, Ken, it's not really our business to but in…"

"Yeah, I know. But, I'm… concerned about them." I blow a raspberry.

"Yeah, you're concerned." He just grins at me.

"I know you're worried about Kyle." A look of shock crosses my face - how did he know? I've never really spoken with Kyle in front of him before. In front of anyone, really. Aside those times that I'm hanging out with all of them. He smirks at me. "Please, Buttercup. Don't think I don't know." He laughs softly, then stops and claps me on the shoulder, with that big smile of his on his face.

And I can't help but wonder how much he already knows, though.

"Hey," he calls me, breaking me out of my thoughts. He's already farther down the hall now, turning around to make me go too. I didn't notice he moved. Spacing out; I need to stop doing that now, I'll blow my cover.

I smile brightly at him, like Butters would. "Yeah," I say. "I'm comin'."

"So," he says, looking down at me from the corner of those blue eyes of his. I love the color of them. "You have that crazy-hard math class first period, right?" I laugh.

"It's not 'crazy-hard.' It's pretty easy, just like algebra, just a little more college-level." He shrugs.

"I was never very good at math." I shake my head.

"Math's easy. It just stakes some getting used to, ya know?" I say, looking up from my books to him, my little 'BK' paper on top. Maybe I should tuck that away before other eyes pry in on it. If Wendy and Bebe saw it, there would be hell to pay.

He blows a raspberry at me, to which I laugh. "Naw," he says in that Southern drawl of his. I always wondered where he got it. "I suck at math." The imagine that first came to mind wasn't the one that he meant when he said that, and it stirred a pit of jealousy in my stomach. What a silly thing! Math can't do that! Stupid teenage mind, stupid teenage mind, stupid teenage lust…

"Want me to tutor you or something?" I ask, locking eyes with him when he looks down at me. Nervously, I tug my books closer to my chest. I almost start up with that old Butters-esque habit of grinding my knuckles together, but the books get in the way.

"That," he says. "Would be awesome." He raises his eyebrows like he's trying to emphasize what he's saying. I smile. Then, he pokes my cheek lightly, grinning brightly. "But are you trying to hit on me?"

"Hit on you?" I ask, patting his hand away. He just laughs. "I don't… get it." He rolls his eyes.

"Never mind," he says with that big grin still on his lips. I pout.

"Meanie."

"I am not!" He says, smiling at me mischievously again.

"Are too." I say rather childishly. It's a game we like to play.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!" I almost sing it.

"Am not," he sings back.

We laugh at each other. I like this. I like us. Most of all… I like him.

"Kenny?" I ask, looking back at him. "Your class isn't in this direction..."

"Yeah, I know."

"So… what are you doing?"

"What?" He asks blatantly. "Can't walk you to class?" I chuckle. He smiles to himself. "Makes me seem like a gentleman. Boyfriend-y." After he says that, though, I can't look at him. It's only a joke, after all. But I can't take it like that.

"Yeah, very." Butters says, looking back at him. He just smiles brightly at me. I hate it when he smiles. But I love it so much. Like a love so strong you just hate it. His smile makes me just want him more, and because I can't have him, it just makes me more sad once he stops.

I must admit, Kenny means a lot to me. More than anyone else in this little piss hole we call civilization. I tell you, once I'm old enough, I'm outta here... I've got it all planned out. I've always had it planned, right from the beginning. Ever since I could remember, right after college when I can finally stop needing my parents in one way or another, I decided that I would leave completely. Some days, I thought of dropping off the face of the earth to become the person I want to be. I'd become a girl, like Mr. Garrison did, but actually stay a girl. I'd change my name, move as far from South Park, Colorado as possible. Not Florida or California, but maybe England or somewhere in Europe. Maybe even Canada and maybe, if I could ever get to him, take Kenny with me and…

"Butters!" Kenny calls out. I notice his hand's in front of me, waving. "Yoo-hoo, are you there? You almost walked into a wall there, Buttercup…"

"Oh…" I giggle nervously, slightly embarrassed. I was so caught up in thinking that I almost walked into a wall in front of him! I'm so embarrassed…

"You're so clumsy sometimes. It's so cute," he laughs, pushing his hand forward and leaning against the wall. I look up at him behind me, hair falling out of my eyes as I half-lean over backwards to do so. He grins down at me with that Cheshire cat smirk of his. He pulls it off to an almost uncanny level sometimes. Then, for whatever reason, he looks down both sides of the hallway. It must be empty; I don't hear anyone but us. "How much more time before class, do you think?" I blink at him then set myself up right, then look down at my pink wristwatch.

"Uh, almost twenty minutes still…" I say, then turn around to find him giving me that grin again. Well, it's a slightly different grin this time.

"Well then," he said with that smirk on his lips. He lifts the other hand from his waist and shifts his weight slightly, then runs a hand through his hair in a very… amatory manner. "Hi, I'm mister Right," he says, smiling that same erogenous smile back at me. "I heard you were looking for me?"

I giggle and smile up at him. "Well, who told you that?"

"God did, of course!" He grins at me slyly. Another game. Just another game we like to play. But it's only a game; it's always and ever only a game. "Well… now that I think of it, it may have been Kyle…" My heart thumps hard; too hard. Is he being serious? Or is this a game? Kyle, if you told him, I'll… "Seeing as, for a moment I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Now I see that I am very much alive, and heaven has been brought to me…" he finished and leans his face in close to mine. I giggle bashfully.

It's only a game, though.

"Hey," he says quietly. God, he's so close; please, just give me this one chance… just this one chance. "Did it hurt?"

I blink up at him, unsure of what he's getting at. "Did what hurt?"

"When you fell from heaven, of course. I mean, someone should call God! Because it appears his heaven's missing an angel." I titter.

Just a game.

I like our games; I hate our games. I like his smile; I hate his smile…

But we always do this. It's routine. Kenny gets new pick-up lines, tests them on me. I don't think he's ever even used them before on anyone in actuality, but rumors say he does. But lots of girls that I hang out with like him, so they probably lie to myself and the rest of the girls that they "hooked up." It's been like that since elementary school though, really. Then again… Kenny always seemed to have that kind of forté on women (and myself), sex and the whole likeness to it. Aside, Kenny always shakes his head and denies it when I ask if he hooked up with so-and-so who apparently did hook up with him, according to themselves.

Oh, what am I doing to myself? I've gone off the deep end. I'm just making it worse for me than it already was. If this was the reason I've gone mad and completely out of my mind, I kind of like it. The games, that is. They keep me attached to him. Everything about him, actually, keeps me attached to him. How could you not be? I'm sure he'd be voted most popular. Well, not exactly popular, per say, but well-liked, sort of. A lot of people like him, okay? I mean a lot. A lot of my 'friends' talk about him all the time, and I can only silently agree. I'm sure that, by now, my friends know I'm gay, but I haven't exactly confirmed that I am. I mean, I've never dated a girl since that time that Butters did, but, you know how that went, don't you? And even then they, being Butters and that Raisin's girl, weren't really dating. Butters just wanted so badly to believe they were. He gets pushed around so easily sometimes. But at any rate, I wonder if they've figured it out. I'm sure if I came out directly to the school, it wouldn't change much. I might get teased a little more often, but that's about it.

Now if I came out admitting that I liked someone, I wonder what would happen. As long as I didn't say who that person was, of course; just to protect their hide. I wouldn't want Kenny to get hurt, nor leave me because I do like him. If I have to, I'll leave things as they are and be happy with it. I know I won't be happy without him there, and I'm not even sure if I'd be able to hold my up charade without him. He's like an energy source. He's addictive. No wonder everyone likes him.

"Shouldn't we be getting to class?" I ask. Technically, I'm almost right next to my class room. But Kenny's is on the other side of the school. I know because he's told me before, not because I stalk him. Honest!

"Ah," he says lightly, shrugging and smiling with that grand, princely smile again. "Why? Do you want to hang out in the classroom so we can make-out in privacy?" He laughs at me, smiling brightly and just shifting his weight slightly to lean a little closer to me. Or so, it appears to me that he got closer.

Butters tilts his head at Kenny. Simple Butters and his naïveté. "What do you mean?" Kenny beams at me with a smirk, then leans in really close - to close for my comfort when I can't kiss him - and lifts a finger, tapping the tip of my nose.

"Oh, Buttercup," he says, with a singing note in his words. "You'll learn eventually." He looks up a second with that little titter of a grin on his red lips, then back down at me, smirking wickedly. He stoops over slightly to whisper in my ear this time. My cheeks flare red. Like fireworks going off in my brain. "Maybe," he whispers, turning slightly to very faintly nose my ear, to feel his breath rasping across my neck like a ghost. "One day I'll teach you personally."

Quicker than anything I've seen, he's up again, grinning down at me while I'm clutching my books to my chest tighter than ever before, propped up against the awkward white brick wall. I look up at him with a very confused look. My Butters mentality clouds over again. Butters tilts his head at Kenny, smiling because he doesn't understand.

"What you talkin' 'bout, Ken?" Kenny just smiles.

"I'm talkin' 'bout many things, little Butterscotch," he says, tapping the tip of my nose again. He shifts his weight again. "You, that's one of the things I really like about you." It's a game. It's all a game. It's always just a game. Don't let it affect you, because he never really means it. He could, but he doesn't. Not like you like him, does he? "You have so many things to learn." Butters titters.

"I know I do," but Butters thinks he's talking about things that require mental assistance. Kenny's eyebrows raise.

"Do you now?" Butters nods.

"Mm-hmm." Kenny's smile grows malign again.

A small "I see" is all I get in response. Well, along with that Cheshire-cat of a smirk, of course. I look down the hall. Other people are starting on their way to class. I look back up to Kenny. "Well, Mr. McCormick, I think ya' should be headin' to class, don't you?" I ask him in a formal manner - another game. I snigger lightly at our jokes to myself. He purses his lips slightly at me, leaning forward to me more with an inquisitive look.

"Maybe I should, Miss Stotch." I give him a funny look.

"Didja just call me miss?" I tilt my head slightly, half-smiling at him. It's a first that he's called me miss.

"Yeah," he says and taps my nose. "'Cause you're quite a pretty little miss." I laugh again.

"Why, thank you, Mister McCormick." He smiles at me, then pushes off the wall and shoves his hands back in his pockets and turns around, already starting off. What - no goodbye? Gee, thanks, Kenny. It's okay - I still love you though, you know. Well, I hope you don't know, at least. But you know what I mean, don't you?

"Well then, Miss Stotch," he says, smiling as he spins back around to face me from across the hall. "I believe I must bid you adieu," he finished, taking a bow and tipping his invisible hat at me. I laugh. He's such a goof sometimes. But I love that about him. "Well - until sixth period, at least." I laugh again. He probably means seventh period. We have seventh period together, not sixth. Silly Kenny.

"You mean seventh period?" I ask, smiling at him again with a little wave. He just shrugs, smiles and then turns around again, walking off with another tip of his 'hat.' I watch him until he turns the corner of the hallway, and almost knocks into another group of people, which he narrowly misses by hopping around them. If he really wanted to, he could be a ninja. Not like back when we were little kids, you know, pretending to be ninjas, but a real ninja. He could pull it off, I think. Aside his hair, because that's so bright it's like the sun. But ninjas wear those little head-cover things, so I guess he'd be okay, wouldn't he? I think so, at least. Maybe. If he tried.

I smile blankly at the thought. It's kinda silly. Kenny as a ninja. Just silly.

I turn around and head to class. Now I have twenty minutes or so to waste. I wonder if anyone else is in first period already?

I turn into the classroom. First period is college algebra.

"Oh, Butters, hey!" I hear a very familiar accent that cannot be describe in any other way that with the word - or name, rather - Pip.

"Hey, Pip!" I wave back at him. He has this class with me, yes. He's pretty good at math, to be honest. I usually get help with it from him. I sit next to the windows of the classroom on the edge, with Pip seated at my right. "How are you?" He shrugs and smiles back at me.

"Fine this morn so far," he replies, with his English-twisted words. His accent always makes me smile a little. Back in elementary school, he got picked on for having that accent of his. Personally, I thought it was a little funny too. Really, you have to admit that it makes you laugh a little. Don't you? "What about you?" He swivels in his chair, turning toward me. He hasn't changed all that much from the early years of school. He still wears fairly British clothes, but with real style nowadays, and has the same cap and haircut sorta, and has the same accent. Though the way he speaks - not his accent, that is - have changed, along with his mannerisms. But nothing changes much, does it?

"Perfect so far!" I beam back at him. He smiles brightly. "I mean, I got to hang out with Kenny all morning, plus Cartman didn't bother me all that much, because Kenny stopped him." He laughs and beams back at me.

"Go Kenny!" No one likes that fat-ass anyway. If you asked anyone, I'm pretty sure everyone will agree in one way or another that he's just an idiot that no one likes. Those that do like him are his fan-followers and basically follow him wherever he goes. But after middle school, there aren't many in that group either.

I think this day, so far, is the best day of my life. How could it get any better? Actually, I could name a few ways that it could get better. But that would make me want them more, so I won't name them. I bet you could guess though. I mean, you can do that, right? I've subtly hinted at them. A lot. I'm sure you've got them by now. Maybe. Who knows.

"You know," Pip says, taking me back to reality just in time for my thoughts to finish themselves off. "I think Kenny's like your knight in shining armour, don't you think?" I want to blush. But I don't. Butters.

"What do you mean?"

"He's just always there for you, I mean."

"Oh." I smile. I suppose he is.

"He saved you from Cartman. Which is basically like slaying the dragon, aye?" He laughs and blushes very faintly, but I see it. "Damien wouldn't do that for me, I don't think." I chuckle.

"No, I think he would." I smile at him. "I mean, he cares for you after all."

"Though, he'd probably tell him something like, 'No one can tease Pip but me!' or something like that."

"Oh, he _would_." We laugh with each other.

Yeah. Today's a very good day.


End file.
